The Cold Beneath (17 page)

Yet the position was thrust upon me. There was a quiet dissent among the men under me as to my experience in such matters, not to mention my lack of interest in the arrangement. Lightbridge asked me in private to take on the remaining men, not because he didn’t trust those left aboard, but because he felt my impartiality to the remaining crew would prove a needed asset in a leader. You see, despite the supposed ‘inevitable rescue’ he continued to tout, behind closed doors he voiced his worry that the crew would face many hardships before such a thing came to pass.

Running out of food, for example.

While we were well enough stocked for the journey planned, the extended stay called for a tight rationing of supplies. As a result, the larder and cooling unit were kept under lock, and the key given to the one in charge. The kitchen staff paired with Geraldine to draw up a reasonable schedule designed to keep the men as fit as feasible while stretching the food as long as possible. A schedule that I was honor-bound to follow. It was by no means glorious work, but I took it on as a favor to Lightbridge, under the assumption that my main duty as acting captain was to supervise the rationing schedule and nothing more.

To my credit, no amount of training could have prepared me for what occurred.

“What are your orders, sir?” was the initial question of my acting first mate.

“I don’t really know,” I confessed. I was in no shape or position to order anyone around. I didn’t even know who I was talking to. As casually as I could manage, I shifted my glance to his badge to read the single word etched upon his silver nameplate. “What do you recommend, Shipman?” Shipman was the only name by which I knew him. I never bothered to ask the man his first name.

He gave a tired sigh that suggested he dealt with this sort of thing all the time before he said, “In light of recent events, I suggest you implement a few days of R and R before plunging the men back into a routine.”

“Excellent idea. Do just that, if you don’t mind. But encourage the men to stick as close to the Regimen as permitted. Especially the vitamins. After all, it has worked for us so far. Let them know I will be glad to provide the injections at their leisure.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

And with that I went from Mr. Syntax to ‘sir.’ Such a thing would have gone to a lesser man’s head. But considering the circumstances, I had neither time nor energy for such trivial things. Besides, I knew how the men really felt about me being in charge and was under no misapprehensions that I was anything more than a temporary solution to a terrible problem. Even so, they treated me with good humor, jesting a bit about my new position while still showing me the respect that accompanied the post. To demonstrate to the men that I had no intention of regarding them any differently than Lightbridge had, I did something very wild and Lightbridge-like.

In the second day of my charge, I organized a snowball battle.

I must admit it was at my first mate’s suggestion, and what a suggestion it was! It not only kept the crew occupied, but in good spirits as well as good health. Thanks to our lower body temperatures, we were able to move about the subzero tundra as though it were just a snowy backyard and not a polar cap. This freedom of movement kept the men from going stir crazy within the tight confines of the now-quiet ship. At first I refused to participate, but was coaxed into it by more than one lewd comment directed at my honor. Shipman claimed three of the able-bodied men for his side while I took the other three.

I doubted my chances for success because my team seemed to be composed of the oldest of the crew. But they turned out to be the most technically minded as well as the most cutthroat! With little effort, we built a phenomenal fort out of snow and wreckage, and within hours had a store of hundreds of snowballs ready for deployment. They created a slingshot missile launcher, using long icicles as ammunition. They even packed each snowball with a center of hardened ice, guaranteeing twice the damage. As I said, they were a pack of cutthroats at heart, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

That night was spent in goodhearted mock rivalry, with each team tossing about as much slander and trash talk as possible during the evening meal. I worried more than once that it would devolve into blows, but each time the air grew tense with taunts and teasing, the men would collapse into gales of laughter, proving the primitive chest-beating was all for show.

That night, at our meager meal, Herron plunked his tray beside mine, took the bench space next to me, and asked, “What’s your deal, anyway?”

“My deal?” I asked. The fellow was from the opposing team, and I assumed he was sent to sew dissent among my ranks. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“You sign on right before we leave. You don’t talk to anyone. You don’t make friends, much less enemies. Who are you?”

I shrugged. “No one special.”

“You got that right!” came the cry of Shipman from across the makeshift mess hall, much to the hollering agreement of his men. As I suspected, the whole thing was a setup to make me look weak in the eyes of my fellow team members. Two could play such a game.

“Why?” I asked, trying to turn the tables. “Who are you?”

The young man seemed surprised by the question. It took him a moment to formulate his answer. “Nobody.” He paused to give a broad smile before he added, “‘Til now.”

“What does that mean?”

“I was nobody ‘til Lightbridge found me. But when we get back, I’m gonna be somebody.” He paused to wave at the group of men around us. “We’re all gonna be somebody! Ain’t we?”

The men shouted in assent again, and I smiled with them, swept up by the cheery mood after so much despair. After they quieted down, I asked another question. “What of your families?”

“What about ‘em?” Herron asked.

“Certainly someone back home thinks you’re somebody already?”

The entire group of men broke into guffaws at that. The room swelled with laughter as each one chuckled at some private shared joke.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You really don’t know anything about us, do you?” Herron asked between laughs. “Family? You have no idea.”

I fell quiet at that. In my heart, I made a promise that I would prove him wrong. I would get to know the men. In my defense, I did not intentionally break that vow. I just never got the chance to act upon it. Before I could inquire further, the young man clarified the root of the shared humor.

“None of us have families.”

I stared at him for a moment, then looked about the mess hall at the chuckling men. I remembered this very same kitchen hand standing before us only a few nights ago, reminding the crew that Morrow had no family waiting at home. “What do you mean none of you?”

Shipman cleared his throat, commanding Herron’s silence.

“Get back to stuffing your faces,” the first mate commanded. With that, the men returned to eating, and the discussion seemed over.

I was left curious, to say the least.

The first mate slipped from his seat and joined me at my table. He then took over the discussion by explaining, in a very low voice, “You’ll have to forgive the men. They see you as something of an enigma.”

“I should say the same of them,” I said. “What were they laughing about?”

Shipman grinned, but it was a piteous sort of smile. “The idea of families.”

“Why is that amusing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Lightbridge staffed his ship with a crew of orphans and widows. None of us has more than a friend waiting for him at home, while most of the men have no home to speak of.”

The idea was sickening. I found myself picturing Lightbridge as a ghoul, picking and choosing men with no one at home to miss them, and no one the wiser to their absence should they never return. “But why?”

“The trip was a risky one. I dare say, on some level, he must have expected to fail. Or at least experience some difficulty. If we all die here, who will mourn us?”

“How morbid …”

“Really?” asked Shipman. He was genuinely surprised at my reaction. “I think it was very noble of him to seek men who would not be missed. No families to shatter. No hearts to break. Not to mention the fact that he gave some of these young lads real purpose. A reason to live, as it were.”

“But still—”

“And just who do you have waiting for you?”

He smiled as I went red at his question. My embarrassment was answer enough. He was correct; I had no one waiting for me. Not at home, at least.

It was then that I understood. In a calculated move, Lightbridge not only hired the best and the brightest, he had also employed the loneliest and the most forlorn. Six months was a long time to spend among strangers whose hearts and minds were miles away with lovers or families. But not these men. The crew acted like a family because they had no one else. It was underhanded and devious, but it was also clever and kind. I was once again left in awe of Lightbridge’s brilliance.

The third day of my timorous leadership was spent in the midst of the exhausting battle. Snow and ice flew fast and furious the moment the signal was given to begin. I must confess, I couldn’t keep up with the old-timers and was forced to watch as my team operated with crisp efficiency, outmaneuvering and outsmarting their younger rivals move for move, attack for attack. It was apparent within the first hour who would win, but the youngsters put up quite the fight. Like a king, I rested against the hull of the buried ship, waiting for my soldiers to lead me to snowball glory.

It was then that I first heard the screaming.

The sound was muffled, as would be expected considering its source. I leaned into the noise, unsure what I was hearing. At first I assumed it was a rebounding of sound, the shouts and cries of the men on the battlefield, in the throes of mock deaths or playing up their less-than-serious injuries. The more I listened, the clearer it became that it was not coming from the men, but from the belly of the ship.

“Halt!” I shouted, waving my arms for attention.

The men ignored me as the snow continued to fly.

“Stop!” I yelled. “Cease fire!”

This caught the attention of one of my teammates, who cupped his hands about his mouth and hollered the order across the playing field. It took more than a few cries of cease fire for the enemy to trust us, but soon enough the battle ground to a halt. The pelting ceased. The men fell quiet. In the ensuing silence, I could hear the screaming much more clearly, though it was still but a muffled cry.

“What’s wrong, sir?” one of my teammates asked.

Again, I only knew him by his last name, in classic military style. “Bathos, gather all of the men. Now!”

The crewman ran off to do as asked while I made my way toward the tunnel that led to the ship. Shipman was already waiting for me at the mouth of the tunnel, wearing an amused look tinged with an air of distrust.

“What’s the matter, sir?” he asked, smiling wide. “Ready to forfeit so soon?”

“Be quiet,” I snapped. Standing at the entrance to the tunnel, I motioned for him to listen. “Don’t you hear that?”

Shipman leaned toward the ship, into the tunnel, where a steady shriek echoed through the icy walls. He slowly lost his smile. “What on Earth …”

“It must be one of the injured men.” In my mind, one of those six, all medicated to the point of catatonia, had awoken to find himself in dire pain. Hence the screaming. I ran into the tunnel, taking care not to slip as I scurried to the bottom. When I flipped back the heavy flap, the shrieking grew louder, though not by much. I took off down the hall toward the makeshift sickbay at the back of the ship. Halfway down the hall, Shipman grabbed me by the arm, and I turned in place to see what he needed.

“Sir,” he said. “The noise is coming from farther down.”

“But the injured are this way.” I pointed behind me.

“Be that as it may, the voice is coming from there.” He pointed behind him, to the stairwell that led deeper into the ship.

“Impossible, the only men down there …” I couldn’t finish my words, because the very idea was gruesome. The direction he pointed to led to the cargo bays. The very place where we stored the corpses of our fallen crewmembers. “Surely the sound is carrying through the ship’s ventilation and echoing up the stairs.”

Shipman looked unconvinced, but he released my arm and followed my lead.

Logic carried my steps to the sickbay, though my ears agreed with Shipman. The noise
was
coming from behind and beneath us. It was no surprise when we burst into the sickbay to find the six men unharmed. I had to stand amidst the injured and dying before I was forced to admit that the person yelling was not one of them.

“It must be from the cargo bay,” Shipman insisted.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How?”

Shipman furrowed his brow at me as if mystified by my confusion. “Sir, don’t you remember what happened to Morrow?”

The words were like a blow, striking me to the heart of my tender spirit. Remember what happened to Morrow. Remember the man who rose from his supposed grave to find himself left for dead and almost frozen. Remember the way we slaughtered him in cold blood for his ensuing bout of madness. I remembered Morrow. I would never forget him.

But what were the odds that such a thing could happen twice?